


The Future Is Mine To Build

by Proskenion



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Changing POV, Character Death, Death, Fix-It, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, It's All Really Weird, Magic, Religion, Resurrection, Rituals, Sacrifice, Sacrifice as a Magical Ritual, Self-Sacrifice, Temporary Character Death, inspired by a dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 12:40:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24849934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Proskenion/pseuds/Proskenion
Summary: Theon means Godly. Bran knows it. To face the long night, and win against the Dead, there is only one solution.Or me rewriting that awful scene in last season because I dreamed it last night. Theon sacrifices himself in a magical-gods-related rituals and comes back to life.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	The Future Is Mine To Build

**Author's Note:**

> Hiya ! 
> 
> So, ahem, as I said in the summary, I actually dreamed what you're going to read last night. Like, literaly. I swear it's true. 
> 
> Hope you'll like it :)

The battlecries echoed between the trees of the Godswood, humans and inhumans mingled. The Dead came and came and came, and the men took them down one by one. But the Dead kept coming and the men were less and less, their corpses falling to the ground like dark snowflakes. They all fell, until only Theon remained. He shot each ones of his arrows until there were no more left. After that he kept fighting, using his spear instead. Here he was, pushing his body to the edge of exhaustion. Besides him stood ghosts, ghosts of boys long gone, one red-haired young lord, one lost prince always smiling to hide his tears, one small boy with a stolen castle, and so many more. The ghosts fought with him, holding him when he was about to fall. Theon fought against the Dead alongside his ghosts, and he never weakened once. He kept fighting, until Bran called his name. 

‘Now,’ Bran said. ‘They’re coming.’

Theon nodded. He knew what he had to do now. He walked calmly to stand a few feet in front of Bran, his fists clenched on his spear. Silent had fallen, even the wind was soundless. Then he saw them, the White Walkers, appearing in the darkness, the Night King in front. Theon felt a cold shiver on the back of his neck. He put his chin up. He stood his ground. 

The Walkers stopped. The Night King took a step ahead. His eyes locked into Theon’s. Theon made his spear turn in his right hand. He brandished it and threw it. It fell at the Night King’s feet. The Night King tilted his head. Then he took the spear out of the ground and walked towards Theon. Theon did not moved. He waited, offering his chest. 

It all happened extremely quickly, and yet it felt like every seconds had turned into a thousand of eternities. The Night King held the spear. Theon looked at him in the eyes and smiled. He was standing there, last remaining shield between life and death. He was ready. The Night King plunged the spear into Theon’s chest, straight through his heart. Theon’s body jerked up a little, but Theon kept looking straight to the Night King’s face. He kept smiling. Time stopped. 

It all happened at once. The Night King took the spear out of Theon’s chest. Theon’s eyes went blank. The wind rose in a violent gust. 

The Night King blew up in hundreds and hundreds of shards of ice, blown away by the wind. So did the other Walkers. 

Theon fell to the ground. 

_I open my eyes and stand._

_All is quiet. Frozen. It is all blurry and foggy. Eerie._

_I stand, tall and alone above the world. The North is spreading in front of me. There, beside me, stands the weirwood, with its red leaves and white bark._

_‘Theon,’ a voice calls behind me._

_I turn. I am so tall I can see the far away sea. And above the sea, a misty figure, always moving. That’s from there that the voice came. I wait._

_‘Theon,’ the voice says again. ‘I have been watching you, Theon, for a long time now. Even in the mainlands, I found a way to reach you, using other gods tricks.’_

_I know who this is. I should be scared, or impressed at least. I guess that’s what men should feel when adressed by Gods. But instead, I feel serene. I feel at home._

_‘Come to me, Theon. It is time.’_

_I obey the voice. I know I have to. I know this is where everything I’ve done brought me to._

_In just a few steps I’m standing in the sea. The foggy figure is dark blue like the waves. I can’t picture any precise form, for it’s always shifting, changing. But I can see sails, and tentacles, and waves. I walk, I sink into the fog._

When Theon opened his eyes he felt breathless. He was immediately bit by the icy cold and the suffocating pain in his chest. He felt heavy. Corporeal. Alive. He rolled on his side and coughed. He managed to sit up. He instinctively reached for his face, his arms, his chest. He was soaked wet, but alive and unhurt. 

‘You’ll keep a wound.’ 

Theon looked up and met Bran’s face. He was there, in his chair, expressionless. Above them, the sun was casting its first beams.

‘It worked,’ Theon said, disbelief in his voice. 

‘It did,’ Bran replied. ‘You saved us all.’ 

Theon could not believe it at first. When Bran told him about it, he had accepted without question. But deep inside, he had never thought he would survive. He stayed there, sitting in the snow. He passed a hand through his wet hair, and looked at his reflection in the Godswood pool. 

‘I told you,’ Bran said, knowing Theon’s thoughts. ‘For the ritual to work, it had to be a willing sacrifice of the purest essence, a sacrifice of someone who had none death and went back. It had to be you.’ 

Theon turned away from his reflection to face Bran again. There was so many thoughts on his mind, contradictory ones, awful ones, heavy ones, confused ones. But instead of any of them, when he spoke, it was to ask :

‘Did you drag me to the pool yourself ?’

‘Yes,’ was Bran only answer, and Theon did not asked for more. 

Bran had been clear that for the ritual to fully work and Theon to come back to life, he had to be dunked into water before his blood dried. The strong bond Theon had with water would only facilitate the process, Bran had said, and his iron and salt blood would immediately react to the dark, godly water of the pool. Theon looked into the water again. There, deep, deep into it, he saw a shape, with tentacles and waves, or maybe was it just smoke and steam curls. 

Theon stood up. His chest was still aching, but it was the hard pulsing of life against his ribbcage and he would bare the pain, for it was the sweetest of all. He pushed Bran’s chair back to the castle. The day had come and the long night was gone. Future was ahead now, future was real. And it was his to build.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading ! 
> 
> I'm sorry it's that strange, I just wrote exactly what I dreamt. The only thing I didn't kept from my dream is that Theon was bound to the tree. I prefer it the way I wrote it. Please, feel free to ask any question if it isn't clear, it might help me improve the story :) 
> 
> Take care <3


End file.
